Severance
by FuchsiaMae
Summary: Caroline, tired of being Cave's subordinate, decides to quit her job - but runs into unexpected consequences. Cave/Caroline.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This one's premise is so unlikely that I consider it a what-if fic - but the what-if is so interesting that I couldn't help but explore it. I'm still working on the WIPs I've posted already, in addition to a pile of half-finished fics I'll get to sometime, but this one nagged at me until I got enough down to post.

So here it is. What if Caroline quit?

.

She woke before dawn to a cold, lonely unease in the back of her mind. It followed her as she rolled over and slid out of bed, padded to the bathroom on bare feet, and twisted the knob of the shower. As the room filled with steam, she let her nightgown fall to the ground and stepped into the spray. It wasn't until warm water on her skin brought her to full consciousness that she registered what the empty feeling was.

Her boss wasn't there.

She didn't need to get up early today, because she didn't have a job anymore.

The thought made her stomach twist. _What the hell was I thinking last night?_ It was a boiling-over of things she'd been thinking for a long time, of course, but last night something had sent her over the edge—one minute they were talking calmly, and the next she was attempting to talk calmly as he roared and raged that she was a science-hating traitor—

"_I'm sorry, sir. I need to do what's best for me."_

"_Like hell, best for you! This company is best for you!"_

"_No, sir, it isn't."_

"_Well that's fine! That's FINE, Caroline! You prance your perky ass off to Black Mesa if that's what you want!"_

"_Sir—"_

"_I don't wanna hear it! You're not gonna quit, 'cause you are FIRED, missy! D'you hear me? FIRED!" _

"_Sir—!"_

"_I want you gone, you little bitch! Clean out your desk and get the hell out of my building!"_

"_But—"_

"_NOW!"_

And she'd fled, barely suppressing her tears, not even stopping to grab her few personal belongings from her desk on the way out. And here she was. At home, alone, when she should be doing science.

She felt a lump in her throat brought on by the memory. Resting her head on the cool tile wall of the shower, she allowed herself a few deep, hitching breaths—but the tears didn't follow. That was a good sign. Probably.

The shower provided an adequate distraction. She let her mind go blank as she lathered and rinsed, focusing on the warm water flowing down her skin, letting it drive away her thoughts. When she was finished she wrung the water from her long hair and stepped out—only to catch sight of herself in the bathroom mirror.

That made her pause. She looked her bare form over critically—a little too curvy, a little too tall, heavy breasts and thick thighs, sallow skin, an unfortunate nose… But he had never minded those things. _"Gorgeous, kiddo. Pretty as a postcard." _He knew every inch of her body as well as she did. And he would never see it again.

She got the feeling that if he didn't, no one would. Only Mr. Johnson had ever seen her like this. Only Mr. Johnson laid claim to her body with eager hands and hungry kisses, on her mouth or anywhere—everywhere—else. Only Mr. Johnson knew what it was to slip into the deepest recesses of her, to make her whimper and moan and howl his name, and afterwards to fall asleep with her snuggled in his arms. She would miss snuggling in his arms.

It wasn't that she didn't care for him. She did—more than anyone she'd ever met. The thought of leaving made her stomach twist. It wasn't easy to say goodbye to the strength of his embrace, the easy confidence of his laugh, the warmth in his rough voice as he said _"That's my girl"_—usually accompanied by a pat on the head or a swat on the rump—

But that was why she had to go. That patronizing attitude. She simply couldn't _take_ it anymore. She was a grown woman now, not the naïve girl he'd taken a shine to in her job interview all those years ago—and superior or not, he had no right to use her like a plaything and treat her like a child. For twelve years she'd obeyed his every command, and for twelve years he'd taken her for granted every damn day.

Well. Let him try taking her for granted now.

She felt a pang of near-regret at the thought. He'd taken advantage of her, yes, but he'd relied on her too. The company relied on her. Without her there—who would file the paperwork? Nobody in that place could file properly; her carefully-organized system would be a mess in a matter of hours. And who would take calls? Mr. Johnson could never be trusted in charge of his own phone. He'd get bored, he'd ignore it, he'd give flippant and insulting answers to callers who caught him in an off mood, even if they were important—she'd learned very quickly that filtering the CEO's calls was a lot more essential than she first thought. And what about the million other things she took care of? Organizing his schedule, sorting through proposals so he didn't have to read the boring ones, monitoring inventory so they had enough of the essentials (and she just _knew_ the lab boys would seize the opportunity to order six hundred trampolines again), double- and triple-checking the numbers from Accounting, doing damage control to prevent potential lawsuits—and the tests! Oh god, who would keep track of the tests? The Enrichment Center would shake itself to pieces without her—she had to get back right away—

She bolted out the bathroom door and started to snatch an outfit from her closet when something stopped her. Maybe Aperture was flailing like a headless snake without her—but maybe it wasn't. Aperture Science was a multimillion-dollar corporation with thousands of employees. How would the absence of just one make any impact at all? It had been going strong for five years before she came to work there. She wanted the best for the company, of course… but if it could be successful without her, it meant she wasn't really necessary at all. It meant she was replaceable.

Aperture would be just fine without her. After all, she was only a secretary.

Very slowly, she hung the clothes back in her closet. This didn't feel like a getting dressed sort of day. She sank to the bed and curled up on her side—it felt large and empty without him. Her mind wandered to the times—very few, but cherished—when they would both call in sick and spend the day together. Sometimes they'd go out to lunch at a cozy café, or dinner at an upscale restaurant, or a movie at the drive-in once the sun went down, or dancing. Sometimes they'd stay in all day and do nothing but make love and talk. She always ended up with pages and pages of ideas in her notebook by the next morning—somehow those days felt as productive as any in the office.

She felt a smile start to tug at her lips. Those mid-coitus brainstorming sessions, with her bent over and scribbling notes as he took her from behind, until neither of them could form words and she lost control of the pencil… He always said that sex helped his creative process. And they did come up with some brilliant ideas while naked together in the sweat-smelling sheets. His voice echoed through her mind, growling affectionately, _"C'mere, you little genius…"_

_I'll never hear him say that again. _

The thought ripped a hole in the pit of her stomach. She curled in on herself with a whimper, fighting down the tears that accompanied the very physical pain. _Stop it. I made the right decision. I'm not going to cry_.

Didn't she deserve a few tears, though? He was part of her life for twelve years. He was the biggest part. He was her boss, her mentor, her lover—

Stop_ it. He was awful for you._

_But he loved me._

_He treated you like chattel._

_But I loved him too_.

She squeezed her eyes shut. No tears. _Do you think he's blubbering like a baby right now? No. _He was probably doing just fine. He probably didn't even miss her—after all, he'd been a successful man of science when she was still a teenager. He could manage without her. Easily. Maybe he'd even find someone smarter and prettier and more efficient to take her place—

_STOP. Wallowing in self-pity isn't helping anything. You did this to yourself. You made the right choice. Stop moping and do something useful_.

She sat up and swung her feet over the side of the bed, but made it no further. What was there to do? No filing, no note-taking, no meetings to organize or calls to make—for the first time in twelve years she wasn't doing science. She was going to miss doing science.

Pretty soon she'd have to look for another job.

It was not exactly a pleasant thought, but she'd have to face it eventually—she only had so much extra money squirreled away, after all, and she would have to eat. She could always try another applied sciences company, but after Aperture anything would be a step down. Maybe a research lab, or a medical center? Or—well—there was always Black Mesa…

_No_. She quashed the thought immediately. Maybe getting away from Aperture was the best thing for her, but she would never betray the company like that. Not ever. Not even if he'd accused her of it already—as if she could deliberately work to sabotage the company she'd poured her heart and soul into all these years. As if she could go behind the back of the man she lo—

Another lump rose in her throat. She felt almost frustrated by it. If she was going to get choked up every time she thought of him, she wasn't going to get far. She'd get over it soon—she just had to keep telling herself that. This was only the transition period. In a few months she'd have a new job, and a new boss, and maybe even a man—one who loved her more than science.

The thought should've eased the dull ache in her chest. It didn't.

_God, I'm hopeless_. She flopped back onto the bed. She'd slept alone in this bed plenty of times—she could do it again. Forget that they'd spent nearly every night together since that first perfect kiss. Forget that she'd worked at his side every day for the last twelve years. Forget that he was more important to her than she'd ever imagined a person could be…

She looked away, trying to derail her trail of thought—and her eyes fell on a wadded-up black something lying on the floor. She picked it up warily, half-knowing and dreading what it was, and clenched her fingers in the fabric as she recognized it. It was one of his sweaters.

She threw it aside as if it burned to touch. She couldn't deal with it, not yet, not now, not before the smell of him had even left her sheets—

And then it was back in her hands, and her nose dove into it, breathing his musky scent like she would suffocate without it. The too-familiar smell brought tears to her eyes at last. A deep sob shook her body as she squeezed them shut, but she couldn't tear the sweater away. A wrenching agony gripped her belly, screaming at her that she'd made a horrible mistake—but she knew it wasn't a mistake, and that hurt most of all.

Her face still buried in the soft fabric, she curled up on the bed and cried.


	2. Chapter 2

The next few days passed in a dull fog. She woke early, unable to sleep past sunrise, and lay in bed for hours staring at the wall. She forced herself to shower, but couldn't make the effort to dress, instead haunting the house in her worn old pajamas. She tried to distract herself by reading, but her collection of science fiction stories failed to hold her attention. She couldn't touch her scientific journals—they were worse because they got her thinking, and before she could stop herself she'd have half a dozen new ideas for Aperture that would never materialize. She couldn't even look at her much-loved copy of _Jane Eyre_.

Instead she busied herself with chores, but always stopped short whenever she came across something of his. Those things would have to be packed up and returned. Later. Until then, his shirts were neatly folded, his Aperture Laboratories coffee mug sat beside hers on the kitchen shelf, and his sweater was tucked away in her nightstand where she could reach it when the loneliness of her bed became too much.

Every day she said to herself, _Maybe I'll be productive tomorrow_.

The thought of a new job nagged persistently in the back of her mind. She needed to move on. She needed something to get her mind off of things, and work was the perfect distraction. Or at least it used to be. But she couldn't yet make herself scan the classifieds—not with the lurking possibility of seeing her own position up for the taking. The idea of someone else sitting at _her_ desk with their hands all over _her_ files brought hot tears to her eyes.

She shoved it aside. It was time to move on. She had a whole new life ahead of her. Without science, without Aperture, without him…

Every day she said to herself, _I'll move on soon. But not yet_.

On the fifth day she got the phone call.

.

The first time she'd hung up on them. The second, she'd listened long enough to give a curt denial. The third time she merely listened.

It was "a lucky coincidence," they said, that they just happened to have a representative staying in the area. She didn't buy that for a minute. She felt like a traitor as she did her makeup for the first time that week, readying to go meet him—but it was perfectly innocent. She should at least see what they wanted. Maybe they had connections to find her a new job. Not within their company, obviously, but outside. Never within their company. Even though Aperture wasn't her home anymore.

As she shut the car door hard behind her, she decided the best thing to do was not think about it.

The drive felt like it stretched on for days. At last she reached the place where he was staying, a small hotel on the outskirts of the neighboring town. She'd never heard him before—a Mr. Richard Wolfe—but evidently he was higher up than the average flunky. Whoever she'd talked to on the phone said that he was an important man, and that the company was very interested in her. Well, of course they would be—she knew everything. Not that she would ever tell it.

She pushed the thoughts out of her mind, tugged nervously one last time at the scarf around her neck, and knocked on his door.

The man who answered was tall and well-built, maybe Mr. Johnson's age or a little younger, with slicked black hair and a handsome face. In his well-tailored suit and tie he exuded an air of sophisticated power. He greeted her smiling. "You must be Caroline."

"I am." She returned a painted-on smile. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wolfe."

"The pleasure's all mine. Come in, please."

The room was small and cheap-looking, as a hotel room in this part of the state was bound to be—he smiled apologetically, clearly uncomfortable in the space. "I'm sorry about the accommodations, but this was the only hotel in the area. I know it's a bit—rustic—but we'll try to make the best of it, shall we?"

He gestured to the armchair at his elbow and she sat tentatively, watching him. His friendliness was disarming—probably calculated to be that way, though it seemed to come naturally to him. He looked like an aristocrat visiting a charity case—out of place, but suffering with a smile for the greater good—as he tried to make himself comfortable on the worn sofa.

"I'm very glad you decided to come," he said warmly, still smiling. "We weren't sure if you would accept the invitation."

Unnerved by his charm, she cut through the introduction. "What is it you wanted to see me about?"

He chuckled. "Direct. I like that. Well, I'll come clean with you, Caroline—when we heard that you left Aperture, we were thrilled. Cave Johnson's personal assistant, ready to change sides? It's not an opportunity I want to waste."

"I'm not changing sides, Mr. Wolfe. I'm not on a side. I quit."

"Direct," he said again, looking her up and down with an appraising eye. "Do you realize the benefits Black Mesa can offer you?"

"I do," she said icily, "and I'm not interested. I'm sorry, but there's nothing you can say that will change my mind."

"Are you sure? We can give you so much—"

"Aperture meant more to me than money."

"We can offer you more than money. Financial benefits would come too, of course, but you could have so much more than that. You could be head of a department. Your own office. Unlimited access to our facilities, including any and all of the labs. _Your_ _own_ assistant. Caroline, we can change your life."

"I don't want my life changed," she snapped in response. Both of them knew it was a lie.

"Think long and hard about that. We can offer you possibilities you haven't even dreamed of." The thought was almost tempting enough to follow—until he shocked her out of it by adding, "Certainly more than Aperture ever could."

She bristled. "Mr. Wolfe, I may no longer work for Aperture, but he still has my loyalty."

"He?"

She fumbled at the slip—it took her a moment to find her words. "Mr. Johnson. He may not be my boss anymore, but… we were close."

"Then why did you leave?"

She was silent for a long moment. "It… wasn't good for me anymore."

"Really?" He leaned forward, interested. "What changed?"

"Nothing changed. That's just it. He—" She cut herself off abruptly as she realized what she was saying.

"Yes?"

His expression was sharply attentive as he prompted her. She watched him warily. "It was time for me to move on."

"You realized there was no room for advancement with Aperture?"

No room for advancement. The words hit unexpectedly deep. No chance at becoming a wife with a marriage to legitimize their relationship, or a colleague with a real title that garnered real respect—no matter what she did, she would never be more than his faithful assistant, always at his beck and call, always anxious for a pat on the head or a word of praise, trotting at his heels like some kind of pet. _Cute little Caroline. Isn't she sweet, fellas? Hands off, though, she's mine. Now run along and do your science stuff, kiddo—you're the best damn employee in this facility, but I still talk to you like a child_. That was Mr. Johnson. Her beloved boss, the arrogant, patronizing, chauvinist ass.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and answered slowly, "In a way."

Lost in her thoughts, staring distantly at the dingy carpet, it took her a moment to realize he was speaking again. "Well there's plenty of room for you at Black Mesa, Caroline. You could be an unimaginable asset to us. You're wasted at Aperture, really—I know you're good for so much more than the obvious—"

"Excuse me?"

"Clearly your boss never appreciated you as more than a pretty face, but it's obvious you're so much more than that. I wouldn't expect a man like Cave Johnson to understand."

"What are you implying, Mr. Wolfe?" She knew exactly what he was implying, and she didn't like it one bit.

"That Cave Johnson doesn't know how to treat a woman of substance." Something confident and almost possessive glittered in his eyes. "At Black Mesa, we could offer you any kind of position you wanted. He would never do that. He didn't hire you to be a thinker, did he?"

She found herself edging away. "What—"

"You don't have to play the game with me, Caroline. I _know_. Everyone does. That he only used you for one thing?" He snorted. "Disgusting, really, treating a woman like you that way." His gaze fixed intently on her, and he leaned further forward in his seat. "You deserve more than he would give you. That's why you left, isn't it? You were tired of being nothing more than his glorified prostitute."

The word hit her like a slap in the face. "Mr. Wolfe—we were _nothing_ but professional—"

"Of course, if you're the kind of professional who works lying on her back."

She stared at him in horror. With that offhanded comment, the gracious veneer cracked, letting her see clearly the smug condescension beneath. It was a lie. All of it. He accused her employer of using her for her body, but he was the one who saw her as a lump of flesh. She felt blood rush hot and furious to her chest and throat. He thought he could cheapen her feelings for her boss? This smirking smug bastard thought he could call her a whore?

She rose to her feet. "Mr. Wolfe, let me tell you something about my time at Aperture." Her tone was slow and deliberate, every word precision-fired like a sniper's bullet. "I spent twelve years in that facility, and I poured blood, sweat, and tears into my work every damn day. I'm sure you wouldn't understand that, sitting on your ass in your fancy office at Black Mesa, but I took pride in my job. Aperture Science Innovators is the greatest applied sciences company on this planet. It sure as hell puts your sorry employers to shame. And do you know why? Because of people who care about their work more than their padded salaries and impressive titles. People who love science. People like me, Mr. Wolfe. And people like Mr. Johnson."

He rose as well, looming over her, eyes flashing with anger. "Cave Johnson is an ignorant blowhard."

"No, Mr. Wolfe, _you_ are an ignorant blowhard. Cave Johnson is a great man. He built that company from the ground up, and he is a _visionary_. You couldn't manage a modicum of the things he does every single day. You have no idea what goes into running Aperture Science—I do. You think I'm nothing but a sex toy? I am his right hand. I am the backbone of that facility. _I get things done_."

"Oh, don't give me that," he snarled heatedly. "You don't exactly have Ivy League qualifications. You have a pretty face and a decent body and you used them, you little slut. Don't pretend you're better than you are."

"How _dare_ you—"

"You are a stupid little girl who let a man trick you into thinking you were special. You're as worthless as every other tramp who sleeps her way to a job."

"I am more capable than you will ever be! And I would rather have a fraction of what I had at Aperture than anything offered by a slimy, self-important son of a bitch like you."

He knotted his fist in the scarf around her throat and dragged her eye to eye with him. "Now, Caroline—"

"Let go of me—"

"—You're going to make me angry—"

"Let _go_ of me—"

She tried to tear herself away, but he only yanked her closer. "You do not want me as an enemy, little girl. I can make sure you never work in the sciences again." She thrashed in his grip—he tightened his hold unrelentingly, choking her with her own scarf. "The company I represent is a powerful and influential organization. Black Mesa can be very good to you, or very bad."

"You and Black Mesa can _burn in hell_."

With a final wrench, the scarf came off in his hand. She bolted for the door. He lunged after her, grasping at her arm—as she knocked his hand away, his fingers closed around her wrist. He yanked her close again, his face contorted in a snarl of rage—

And on instinct alone, she punched him in the throat.

The blow connected with his windpipe just under his jaw. It sent him reeling—and suddenly her hand was free. She seized the opportunity and bolted. Before he could find his balance again, she was out the door, down the stairs, out the back exit, and away. Her car swerved out of the parking lot at top speed long before she paused to think.

At last, a good long distance down the highway, her heart rate began to slow. She pulled over to the edge of the open road and tried to gather her scattered thoughts.

_What the hell did I just do?_

Only now was it occurring to her just how dangerous the situation had been. Alone in a hotel room with a strange man—from Black Mesa, no less. No one knew where she was. No one would know if she didn't come home… Her hand wandered up to her throat, now bare where the scarf had been, and she shuddered. She was just lucky to get away.

Alone with a man from Black Mesa. Mr. Johnson would be disgusted.

Her eyes squeezed shut as tears pricked behind them again. It was insane to even consider this meeting. He would kill her. Assuming he cared about her anymore…

But she couldn't go back. She had enough pride for that. She had left for good reasons—real, legitimate reasons—and she wasn't going to slink back to him with her tail between her legs. Was she?

_Like his glorified prostitute_.

Ooh, that _infuriated_ her. How dare he? How dare he reduce their relationship to sex and money, when it was so much _more_ than that? His base intimations couldn't come close to what she felt spending every day at her boss's side, working for progress and a better tomorrow—the rush that came with a successful test, the sheer _joy_ of doing science, and the thrill of sharing that joy with him—it was like nothing else in the world. It made her happy like nothing else in the world. Maybe she could sacrifice a little pride for that.

_Mr. Johnson…_

An image of him appeared in her mind, protective arms around her, rough voice murmuring praises as he nuzzled her neck. "_My Caroline, my little gem_…" Her own hands went to her breasts and belly, tracing the ghost of his touch. "_Best damn secretary in the whole world_." She smiled softly. Anyone who called her a whore in his hearing would earn a punch in the mouth. She was his girl—that meant she was special.

His girl. His right hand. The backbone of their facility.

_I have to go home_.

Businesslike fingers wiped the tears from her eyes before they could stain her cheeks. She swallowed the lump in her throat. This wasn't about her pride. It was about Aperture, and being where she belonged. She would go clean herself up—a shower and a lie-down would help her frazzled nerves—and after that…

She needed to see a man about a job.


	3. Chapter 3

Gina Mancini was new to Aperture Science, but she considered herself a rising star—barely a month into her new job pushing paper in Accounting, and she was already being called on to fill in for the personal assistant of Cave Johnson, the boss himself. His secretary had taken an abrupt and indefinite sick leave, apparently, though office gossip was that indefinite meant very long, or permanent. She couldn't help hoping to scoop up the job for keeps. She didn't have much secretarial experience, but she'd asked around and apparently his current assistant hadn't started with much experience either—she'd come in with nothing but a shapely figure and a pretty smile. Gina sure had those, and if it meant a cushy salary, an office of her own, and bragging rights that surpassed any other woman in the facility, she was sure willing to use them.

Of course, she took into consideration that her predecessor's absence might be because Johnson had finally knocked her up—again, office gossip—but Gina would be careful to avoid that. She was twenty-two, she'd dealt with men before, and she knew how to keep herself out of trouble. This should've been easy enough. Just follow orders, be sugary sweet, and work that pretty smile.

By the end of her first week, however, it was clear that her new position wasn't the cakewalk she'd hoped for. Mr. Johnson was a demanding boss, and his secretary was in charge of more than she'd realized. _Much_ more. Enough to make her wonder if she'd gotten the temp job because no one else would take it. But it was the end of the week, and she'd survived, barely. Just a little longer and she could go home.

She sighed and stared at the stack of papers that had been steadily growing on her desk. It was now about the thickness of a telephone book, and she really should sort it before she gave it to her boss. She really should, but she _really_ didn't want to. She didn't want to go back there at all. Cave Johnson had turned out to be every bit as bad as the stories she'd heard about him—his temper flared at the slightest misstep, he was surly and standoffish with everyone, and nothing ever met his standards. When he wasn't irate, he was despondent and dull. He never seemed happy. And he certainly never seemed to respond to her, no matter how many flirtatious tricks she tried, even though he sure looked like he could use a woman. She suspected there was something wrong with him.

Her eyes flicked to the clock on the wall—less than an hour to go. She could do this. Collecting the stack of paperwork, she steeled her nerves and poked her head into his office.

"Mr. Johnson?"

He jumped as if startled, looked up, and visibly drooped when he saw it was her. He always seemed to do that when she called his name. His shoulders settled into their familiar dejected slump. "What is it, Gina?"

She entered with the sheaf of papers clutched over her chest, smiling sweetly for all she was worth. "This week's results are in from the labs, and Accounting sent up the projected budget for next month."

"The what?"

She blinked—shouldn't he know about this?—and started to explain slowly. "Accounting ran the projected numbers for profit and spending in the next month, and—"

"No, no, I know, but Caroline usually—" He cut himself off and swallowed the rest of his sentence. "Never mind. Give it here, sweetheart."

"Yes sir." She dropped the papers with a thump on his desk. "Anything else you need?"

"Nah," he waved her away. "Hell, it's almost time for you to head home anyway. Take the rest of the night off."

She perked up immediately. "Really?"

"Yeah, yeah. Get outta here." He attempted a halfhearted smile.

"Thanks, Mr. J! See you tomorrow!" She didn't notice his wince at the pet name as she breezed out the door.

As soon as it shut behind her, his expression lapsed into a grimace. He slumped back onto his desk, squeezed the bridge of his nose against a headache, and muttered, "For chrissake, get outta here." That plastic grin of hers was starting to make him sick. He'd give anything for his secretary's honest smile right now.

Almost a week without her. In that week he'd been living on stolen employee lunches and coffee from the break room—shoddy coffee at that, since Gina couldn't seem to make it like Caroline did—because he couldn't make himself go home. In lieu of showering, he'd been cleaning himself up in the bathroom sink every morning, and had almost a week's work of stubble to show for the time away from his razor. He hadn't even had a good night's sleep in a real bed. Every night since she walked out that door, he'd fallen asleep at his desk, head pillowed on paperwork, with a bottle Jack Daniel's close at hand. He told himself it was because there was more work to do without her around. It certainly wasn't because he hoped she'd come back. In fact, he hoped she didn't come back—and if she did, he'd throw her out on her job-leaving ass. Yeah. That would show her.

Bitch. Smart, sexy, doe-eyed bitch, with her perfect tits and her perfect legs and her perfect little genius brain. To hell with her. Why couldn't he get her out of his head?

At this time last week she'd been leaning over his shoulder, right here, helping him go over sales reports. He had to push away the memory of her honey-sweet voice, warm and intimate in his ear, and the way her perfume teased his nose. Had she really been so unhappy? Not that her petty complaints were his problem—if she got her panties in a bunch over the least little thing, he was better off with her gone—but he found himself wondering what it would take to get her back.

_Now wait just a minute_. He shook himself out of the thought. He was Cave Johnson, and he was not going to beg on his knees to win over some broad. Even if that broad was the best thing that ever happened to him. Which Caroline wasn't. He'd run this place on his own for years—he didn't need her. He didn't need anyone.

He finished the last cup of coffee Gina had brought him—cold by now, and much too weak to begin with—and forced the thoughts out of his mind. No time for navel-gazing. He had a company to run.

He picked up the stack of papers and started to leaf through, noticing with annoyance that the temp hadn't bothered to sort them, but was interrupted by a pointed cough from the direction of the door. He raised his head to see a dapper-looking man in an expensive suit standing in his doorway.

The man greeted him with a polite smile. "Mr. Johnson?"

Cave's brow furrowed. "Who the hell let you in here?"

The stranger's smile didn't waver. "The young lady in the outer office let me in as she was leaving. Charming girl. Is she new?"

"She's a temp. The hell do you want?"

"Ah yes, I don't suppose you've found a permanent replacement yet." That smile was much too knowing. Cave didn't like it. "Sad, really, the whole affair. It must be hard to lose an employee as important to you as your dear secretary."

That did it. He bristled aggressively. "What the _hell_—"

"Yes, I should explain myself. I apologize." Still smiling, the stranger took a seat across from Cave's desk and folded his hands as comfortably as if he owned the place. "My name is Richard Wolfe. I represent Black Mesa."

Cave's face went purple. His response came out in a low growl. "Get the hell outta my office."

"Now, Mr. Johnson, I know our respective companies have had differences in the past, but I'm here on a more personal matter. I mentioned your secretary?"

"I don't know who the hell you think you are—"

"I just thought you should know that she's alright."

"—But—what?"

"Of course, if you don't want to talk about it, I understand. She did seem terribly upset by the whole incident when she came to meet with me."

"_What?_"

"Black Mesa heard about her… terminated employment, and naturally we were concerned. I was sent to check up on her. We had a very interesting talk." He continued smoothly over Cave's splutters of disbelief, "The poor woman's been with your organization so long that finally getting away left her rather shell-shocked. I was more than happy to be there for her. She had quite a lot to get off her chest."

"Wh…" The words caught in his throat. "What did she… say?"

"Oh, this and that. Things about Aperture, about her dissatisfaction here—about you. Quite a lot about you. And I told her that should she ever need anything, Black Mesa would be there to lend a hand. She took the offer quite well."

His speech was convincing, but something about his words sounded wrong. Cave's jaw clenched. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. His tone was dangerously quiet as he made the accusation. "You're a liar."

"Excuse me?"

His voice rose with mounting rage. "You're a _goddamn liar_, now get outta my facility—"

"Mr. Johnson, let's be civil—"

"Get the hell out of this office or I'll break your fucking jaw!"

Wolfe was taken aback as Cave's fury propelled him up from behind the desk. He scrambled to his feet as well, but in a heartbeat regained his composure and faced the seething CEO with cold dispassion.

"D'you hear me? Get out right the hell now or—"

Unfazed now by Cave's threats, Wolfe flicked a hand into his suit jacket, pulling from his inside pocket a small square of cloth. The tiny motion caught Cave's eye—his words cut off abruptly, and his brows knit as he watched the object in the other man's hand. Wolfe examined the square himself, turning it carefully over and over, eyes fixed on it as he spoke. "Your secretary left this with me. Forgot it in my hotel room." The fabric flowed and pooled hypnotically in his grasp. "Caroline's… quite a woman, isn't she?" A self-satisfied smirk played across his lips.

For the first time in his life, Cave Johnson was speechless.

He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. He could only watch as the too-familiar scarf played like a live thing around Wolfe's fingers. He felt like his heart might stop.

Wolfe watched from in front of the desk and smiled.

"I should return it to her the next time I see her… but… perhaps you'd like to keep it? Something to remember her by?" The corners of his mouth twitched as he tried to contain his triumph. He couldn't resist a final jab. "I don't suppose she'll miss it much, since she forgot it so easily."

He received no response from the stupefied man behind the desk. That was enough.

The false politeness returned to his smile as he dropped the scarf like a fallen flag between them. Cave's eyes followed it unwaveringly. "Good day, Mr. Johnson. I'll tell Caroline you said hello." And then the door closed behind him, and he was gone.

Cave didn't even notice him leave. He sank unsteadily back into his chair, his fingers shaking as he gingerly picked up the scarf. A silky square the size of a large handkerchief, white in the middle, bordered with dark wine-red—the last time he'd seen it, it had been knotted around her perfect pale neck. He'd edged it aside to reveal a hidden lovebite from the night before, kissed that delicate throat as he held her close, felt her fingers trail across his back as she purred gently in his ear…

He pressed the soft fabric to his lips, desperate for some fleeting taste of her. It still smelled of her perfume. The intoxicating scent brought a flood of memories crashing down. He tried his hardest to drown himself in them, remembering so many nights with her—her shape in his arms, her lips on his skin, her panting breath as he pounded into her—the delicious feeling of possessing her completely, her howls of climax as she screamed his name—and the afterglow of holding her, cuddled against his chest in sweat-soaked satisfaction, when they were through. It only worsened the impact when reality came slamming home.

_I'll never have her again_.

His stomach ached like he'd taken a punch to the gut. His chest felt painfully tight. It hurt to breathe.

_She's gone_.

Every bit of his considerable confidence crumbled away in that moment. He stared distantly at the fabric in his fingers, not seeing it, feeling more lost and alone than he ever had in his life. It was all a lie. More than ten years she'd been with the company, and everything she'd said to him, every word, was a lie. She was a liar, and a fake, and she never gave a damn about him or his science, and why did she have to be so _beautiful?_

His sinuses ached, and his nose began to itch. He realized with a twinge of horror that his eyes were tearing up. _Oh, no. Not happening_. He blinked the tears back. No way was he going to bawl like a bitch over some girl. He was a grown man, and he was not going to cry. He was a go-getter—he should get up off his sorry ass and _do_ something. He wanted to kill that smug bastard Wolfe, and kill his whore secretary too. He wanted to kill everyone who ever worked for Black Mesa. He wanted to burn their goddamn building down. More than anything he wanted to curl up and die. He wiped his eyes because they itched.

How could he be so stupid? Cave Johnson, certified ladykiller, getting this bent out of shape over a doe-eyed kid. It was ridiculous. He was Cave Johnson, and women were a dime a dozen—just because this one was smart, and sweet, and hardworking, and reliable, with the most gorgeous body he'd ever seen and a smile that could stop his poor old heart—just because this one was perfect—

_Perfect. Yeah. Best secretary in the world. _His breath hitched painfully, and he felt a drop roll down his nose. _Best damn secretary in the goddamn world, and she went and stabbed me in the back_.

The scarf in his hand showed a round wet stain where the tear had fallen. He saw it and felt his stomach clench tighter. _Dammit, dammit, god dammit_… But as he succumbed at last to the sobs that wracked his body, there was nothing he could do. Cave Johnson sank onto his desk and cried.


	4. Chapter 4

As she pulled into her familiar parking space outside the familiar building, Caroline felt a peculiar mix of relief and trepidation. Seeing the facility again felt like coming home—but she wasn't out of the woods yet. She could only hope her boss would listen to what she had to say. _Mr. Johnson, I made a terrible mistake. Aperture is where I belong. I'd like to come back, sir. I'm begging to come back. _

He would be completely justified if he didn't hear her out. She had been the one to leave, after all. It was her mistake. But… she missed him enough to swallow her pride. Maybe he missed her enough to forgive.

_Please, please take me back_.

She half-crept down the empty hallways of the Enrichment Center, careful that her clicking heels made as little noise as possible, and beyond thankful he hadn't thought to take her keys. The last thing she wanted was to make a scene—but this late at night, the place was deserted. Except for one person.

_I love you. I'm sorry. Please_.

At last she reached her destination. The outer office felt as comfortable as her own bedroom—and as if it had been her bedroom, she immediately noticed that her things had been touched. Stray pens and pencils littered her desk, her paper tray was much too close to empty, and the cord of her phone was tangled as if someone had been playing with it. Apprehensively, she took a peek into her file cabinet—but the damage there was minimal. She let out a sigh of relief. It looked like her replacement had merely skimmed her files, decided not to tamper with her system, and instead stuffed all the new paperwork into one large folder in the back of the bottom drawer. Messy and unprofessional, but nothing she couldn't fix after taking her job back from this shoddy temp.

At least, she hoped it was a temp. He couldn't possibly have replaced her so quickly, or with someone so inept. He wouldn't stand for it. _She_ wouldn't stand for it. As soon as she was reinstated, she'd teach whoever this fill-in was a little lesson in proper filing. Resisting the urge to straighten out her things now, she tugged at her dress and tried to smooth out her nerves. No matter how confident she tried to be, the thought wouldn't stop nagging at the back of her mind: _What if he doesn't want me back?_

_He will._

_But what if he doesn't?_

She felt her worries threatening to overwhelm her, and quickly quashed them. She wasn't backing down now. It was time to go home. As her fingers settled on the doorknob, a fragment of an old quote replaced the fear. _If you love something, let it go. If it comes back, it's yours._

It made her feel oddly peaceful. She smiled—_Well, Mr. Johnson, I guess I'm your girl after all_—and pushed open the door.

The man slumped at the desk was barely Cave Johnson. He lay inert on a stack of papers, broad shoulders collapsed, arms folded over his head as if blocking out the world. She'd never seen him look so hopeless. At the sound of the door opening he raised his head just slightly, letting her glimpse unkempt hair and a scruff of unshaven stubble. Seeing her boss degenerate to this pitiful mess in barely a week made a lump rise to her throat. She stepped into the room.

He blinked hazily, not looking at the door. "Hell, Gina, I thought I told you to go home—"

"Mr. Johnson?"

He stiffened as if struck by lightning. The eyes that met hers were bloodshot, and his face was blotchy, but she smelled no trace of alcohol on his breath. If she didn't know better, she'd say he'd been crying. His mouth dropped open as if to speak, but he only managed to gape for a moment before swallowing and trying again. "You… you came back."

Relief flooded warm through her veins. "I came back."

It took him a while to simply process what he was seeing—his girl, his Caroline, standing just where she'd stood one awful week ago, smiling softly like an answered prayer. He'd never been a religious man, but hell if she didn't look like an angel.

Until Wolfe's insidious voice murmured in his head: _Quite a woman, isn't she?_

As she watched, the incredulous light in his face snuffed out.

Her smile faltered—but she wouldn't let it stop her. Again she stepped determinedly forward. "Sir, I—"

"So how d'you like sucking cock at Black Mesa?"

"…_What?_"

Her voice was a whisper of shock. Suddenly the hope of reconciliation felt cold in her stomach. The man staring back at her looked unforgiving and cruel.

He glowered up from the desk, jaw clenched, eyes hard. "Heard about your new friends, kiddo. How many of 'em have you fucked so far? Going straight to the top, or working your way up slow?"

"Mr. Johnson—"

"You tramp. You goddamn _tramp_. Pranced off to Black Mesa like this place meant _nothing_." His words were sharp with bitterness—she flinched as they cut into her like knives. "Bet they're better than ol' Cave ever was, right? They're better at a lotta things. America'_s Number One Science Company_." An ugly sneer contorted his features as he rose to his feet and advanced on her. "Bet you couldn't wait for a piece of that, after all these years working for second best. You were itching to jump ship. How much did they offer you to_ sell me out?"_

"Mr. Johnson!"

"C'mon, what was it?" he goaded cruelly. "Double your salary? Triple? Or just the chance to get away from your rotten old boss?" He looked like an animal baring his teeth with that sneer. "Oh, you must've _hated_ it here, with a second-best reputation and a dirty old man like me breathing down your neck. Did it feel good to get rid of Cave Johnson? The crazy old nutcase?"

"Sir, don't say that—"

"I guess you'd rather take it from your new bosses, huh?" His tone was approaching a yell. "Do the Black Mesa boys fuck better than me?"

"What are you_ talking _about?" Her voice hitched up an octave in pain, and she stumbled back, eyes wide.

He surged forward and grabbed her by the upper arm, yanking her to within an inch of his face. He was livid with rage, eyes blazing, expression twisted in a snarl. A vein in his forehead throbbed. "Don't try that on me," he spat. "Your buddy came by to kiss and tell."

"Wh—"

"Your pal Wolfe. Don't play dumb. He dropped in today. Said you had a nice conversation."

"He—what?" She choked on sudden panic.

"I thought you were different, you goddamn tramp. I thought you were mine."

His rough growl was thick with the pain of betrayal. She heard it, and felt her heart break for him. "Oh, sir—"

"You _always_ had your eye on someone else, you cheating little traitor—"

"Whatever he told you, it wasn't true—"

"I thought this place meant something to you!", that's

She felt tears sting her eyes. "It does, Mr. Johnson—god, it does—"

"You think you can _lie to me?_" he roared. "_I know what you did!_"

"I—"

As his grip on her clenched tighter, his free hand snatched something from his desk. He brandished it like damning evidence. "You left _this_ in his hotel room."

It stopped her cold. Her scarf. It was her lost scarf, the one that Wolfe had ripped from her throat. She couldn't breathe. She knew what he was thinking—and she was terrified.

"_Why_—"

"H-he lied—"

"—were you _taking your clothes off_—"

"I didn't touch him—"

"—IN HIS HOTEL ROOM?"

"We only talked!"

"YOU GODDAMN LIAR!"

He threw down the scarf and jerked her close again, pain shooting through her arm as his fingers crushed her in their grip. She whimpered pleadingly, "I didn't do anything, I didn't—"

"Did you have fun with that Black Mesa bastard?" he seethed through gritted teeth. "Nice change from your old boss, huh?"

"Mr. Johnson—"

"A crazy old man doing second-rate science. No wonder you were so damn keen to leave."

"Sir—"

"You always wanted to worm your way to the top, didn't you?" he snarled. "You had this planned right from the beginning. Hop into bed with me, steal my secrets, and then use 'em to get what you were really aiming for." His frame shook with pent-up anger. "It was always Black Mesa. It was _never_ me. You used me and you used my company so you could get in good with them, you backstabbing bitch—"

"_No_—"

"_You never gave a damn about Aperture Science!_"

"That is _not true!_" She bristled. Suddenly hot with indignation, her back stiffened, and she looked him straight in the eye. "I have been _nothing_ but loyal to this company—"

"Oh, like hell—"

"—and if you think for _one minute_ that I would betray you—"

"_Like hell_—"

"—you've got another damn thing coming!"

"Yeah? What about when you were FUCKING A BLACK MESA REP LAST NIGHT?"

"I did not have sex with Richard Wolfe, and I did _not_ sell you out!"

"YOU LYING _WHORE!_"

He shoved her away, and she stumbled, catching herself clumsily as she hit the wall. The word knocked the wind out of her more than the impact. It left a moment of silence in its wake, hanging breathless and irrevocable between them. She'd heard the word before—but never from him.

Something snapped.

As she looked up at her boss, her face hardened into an impassive mask. The eyes that met his were stony and cold.

"Get the hell out," he growled. "Get the hell out, and don't even think about coming back."

He expected her to cower. She didn't. Drawing herself up tall, almost his height in her heels, she fixed him with a frigid stare. "Yes sir, Mr. Johnson." The once loving words cut him to the bone.

She turned her back to him, crossed the short distance to the door, and shut it with a sharp snap behind her.

Her footsteps clicked quickly through the halls—walking, not running—not bothering to be quiet. She kept up her pace until she was safely in her car. Once behind the wheel, she allowed only a moment for her heartbeat to steady. A single hitching breath let tears slip out—but businesslike fingers brushed them from her cheeks. No more crying. Not for him.

Her voice was soft but steady as she whispered, "Goodbye, sir."

She drove into the night without looking back.

.

"Superior Suites? I'm looking for Mr. Wolfe. Is he still in residence…? Room 203… Wonderful, thank you."

Her fingers tapped impatiently against the receiver. A moment passed while the front desk put her through—a moment longer as the phone rang in his room—and then a voice answered, "_Hello?_"

"Mr. Wolfe… Richard. This is Caroline. I've had a change of heart." Her words were firm and resolute. "I'm not Cave Johnson's girl anymore."

_If it doesn't come back, it was never yours at all_.


	5. Chapter 5

Cave Johnson was absent from work for the next two days.

The facility's weekend shift spent the time trying not to panic. After all, there was no reason to worry. Sure he hadn't missed a day of work in years, and when he did it was always scheduled by Caroline weeks in advance—but he was the boss. If he needed time off, he could take it. He'd probably call in to explain any minute.

Any minute…

But noon on the first day came and went without a word, and people were getting anxious. Gossip traveled in hushed whispers—something was up, but no one knew what, and everyone was itching to find out. Maybe he was sick. Maybe he'd been assassinated. Maybe the company was in legal trouble, and he and Caroline had fled to South America. By the time that particular rumor made the rounds, Caroline was pregnant, Cave was hiding billions of embezzled company dollars in a secret offshore bank account, and they were both wanted for treason against the US government.

Things were getting out of hand.

In an uneasy meeting during their lunch break, Aperture's department heads decided to do something. After some debate, they settled on what was obviously the most professional thing to do—drawing lots to decide who had to call Mr. Johnson's house. The head of HR won. He was best for it, anyway, the others agreed—everybody knew how good he was with people. He promptly passed the job on to his assistant.

Looking around the conference table at the circle of executives, the luckless man wished he hadn't shown up today either. He felt their eyes on him as he picked up the phone and slowly dialed the number. His hands shook.

Through the receiver he heard a ring on the other end. Then another. And another. The ringing continued unanswered for over a minute, and he thought with relief that maybe he wouldn't have to talk to the boss after all—but just as he was about to give up, someone picked up the phone.

"Mr. Johns—"

_CRASH_.

A loud slamming noise from the other end, some indecipherable yelling in what they recognized as Mr. Johnson's angry voice, and then the call suddenly cut off.

The assistant looked up from the phone at the gathered department heads, his face ashen. "I don't think he wants to be disturbed."

They decided not to call again that day.

.

Day two, and still no one had heard from the boss or his secretary. Their absence was starting to take its toll. Important callers expecting to speak with the CEO didn't like being redirected to various executives, which caused more than a few heated arguments over the phone. Without Mr. Johnson's pet secretary nipping at their heels, employee productivity took a nosedive. And nobody could get into the file room because Caroline had the only key.

The department heads gathered again over lunch, slightly more frazzled than the day before. Running the company by committee clearly wasn't working—so they decided to make another call. A unanimous decision gave the task again to the head of HR's hapless assistant. Watched intently by the gathered execs, he took a steadying breath and began to dial.

_Rrrring. Rrrring. Rrrring. Rrrr_—and then someone picked up, and Johnson's raspy, tired voice answered the phone. "Yeah?"

It wasn't his usual businesslike greeting, but it wasn't incoherent shouting either. Hopefully that was a good sign. The assistant fought to keep his voice from shaking as he began, "M-mr. Johnson? This is Jim Parish."

"Who?"

"Assistant to the head of HR, sir. I-I'm calling because you haven't been at work."

"So?"

"We, uh—we were worried."

"Bullshit."

At least that wasn't a monosyllable. "There's no one in charge here, sir. We at least need some kind of instructions."

"Don't blow anything up unless it's part of a test. Keep testing. I'll be in tomorrow."

"That's good to hear, sir—"

"If there's a scratch on that facility when I get back, you're all fired."

"I—"

Parish started to respond, but Cave hung up before the man could get a word out. He shot a glare at the phone. "Morons." He was out of booze, he felt like shit, and he really didn't need idiot employees whining at him this early in the morning. Never mind that it was after noon. He'd had a long couple of days.

The first thing he remembered after the fight was waking sprawled across the sofa in his office, miserably hungover, calling for Caroline and a goddamn aspirin. Of course, Caroline wasn't there. Caroline was gone for good—and he couldn't stand to be in that damn facility one more second. He'd dragged himself home in the grey predawn, flopped onto his bed, and slept away the morning, stirring only when roused by that first phone call. And he didn't want to be disturbed. There was a dent in the table next to the phone from where he'd slammed the receiver against it.

For the rest of the day he'd paced around the house like a bear in a cage, getting more ornery and less coherent as his whiskey disappeared. What the hell right did she have to make him feel this way? Dumb broad. Dumb, cheating broad. Good riddance. His next secretary was gonna be even better, sexy and smart and _loyal_, unshakably loyal, and probably a better cook, too. Or maybe he should just get a man next time and skip all this bullshit. Women were crazy. Yeah, that was the problem—he had a woman doing a man's job. This was his own fault for relying on a woman when women were unreliable. Fickle, overemotional, petty, and weak, that was women. The workplace was for men—save the girls for recreation. In fact, he had a mind to fire all the office girls so this never happened again. The men would thank him… Throw him a goddamn party…

Gradually, his thoughts got fuzzier and fuzzier. He didn't remember passing out in bed.

He _did_ remember the massive headache that greeted him when he awoke that morning, as it was still pounding in his head now. He'd staggered to his feet and gone immediately to his good friend Jack—but this bottle too was empty. It took him a long moment to process that only a dribble of amber liquid swished around the bottom. His first lucid thought of the morning was _Well, shit._

Losing his coping mechanism shocked him into the harsh light of reality, as much as the harsh light itself on his sensitive retinas. He needed a fucking aspirin. He shambled to the bathroom to find one—and the sight that met his gaze in the medicine cabinet mirror was a shadow of a man. His eyes were bloodshot and squinting against the light, and bags of exhaustion hung heavy beneath them. His chin was rough with stubble, his hair was tousled, and a sickly pallor blanched his face. He was still wearing his rumpled shirt from three days ago.

He scratched his scalp and tried to open his eyes fully. _I look like a goddamn homeless person._

The pills behind the mirror were a more welcome sight. He took two and chugged a glass of tap water after them, pulling a face at the stale morning-breath taste in his mouth. His tongue felt dry and thick. He swallowed hard, leaning heavily on the sink to steady himself, and at last worked up the nerve to brush his teeth. That helped somewhat. He spat out the toothpaste froth, swished a mouthful of water, spat again, and finally felt just human enough to swig another glass of water and drag himself back to bed.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there, but by the time the phone got him up again his headache had started to subside. Luckily for Mr. Parish. Now that he _was_ up again, he thought as he noticed the pit stains under his arms, maybe it was time to get his act together. The CEO of the world's best science company couldn't go around looking like a homeless person. He kept telling himself that, fighting the overwhelming allure of the bed, until he finally worked up the motivation to head back to the bathroom. A quick splash of water served to wash his face—but god, he _stank_. No way was he getting out of a shower.

He stripped off his wrinkled, sweaty clothes, turned the hot water knob as far as it would go, and stepped into the steaming spray. His body slowly relaxed as the heat melted away his aches and pains. That felt _nice_. He scrubbed himself down with soap and let everything wash out of his mind except the warm water on his skin. He'd had hangovers worse than this. He could almost pretend he was recovering from a late night with his business associates—whiskey, cigars, and a good bull session. Yeah. Maybe when he got out of the shower breakfast would be waiting for him.

Of course, he knew that wouldn't happen. Nobody to cook for him now. Not like that was a problem—he could get girls with a snap of his fingers. It was about time he got back in the game, anyway. He was Cave Johnson, babe magnet, the number one prize for young starlets and supermodels everywhere—depriving the female population of that was a crime. And yet, trying to think back, he couldn't remember where he'd left his little black book. It was ages since he'd needed it. Hell, he couldn't even remember the last girl he'd fooled around with before his secretary. All those women to choose from, and he hadn't had another one in… _years_…

The realization felt strange. How long, five years? Longer? In all that time, he hadn't held or kissed anyone but her. He hadn't taken anyone else out for dinner or dancing, or curled up beside anyone else in bed. He'd slept alone, of course, but only on business trips—and he always had her waiting for him. Unfamiliar hotel beds seemed less cold when he thought of her. It was nice, somehow, that no matter how far apart they were she was thinking of him too.

'Course she wasn't thinking about him now. She was with her friend Wolfe at her fancy new job. Drinking champagne in some fancy executive lounge—built with money from _his_ stolen inventions—laughing and talking with her new bosses, hanging on some other guy's arm. No, she didn't need ol' Cave anymore.

The sick, sinking sensation in his stomach didn't feel like part of the hangover.

Suddenly the warm water wasn't so relaxing. He finished quickly and shook himself as he stepped out onto the bathroom floor. A large towel dried him off, and then wiped the fog from the bathroom mirror so he could peer inside—the man peering back now looked half-alive, at least. Still a little tired, but more alert than before. And that stubble was rather manly, in a rugged, not-homeless sort of way.

He ran his fingers through his hair. _Cave, you still got it_. _Bet the ladies have missed you_. He could get any woman he wanted, no problem. They'd be lucky to have his attention. They'd be falling at his feet, just like old times. _Handsome devil. _He carefully ignored the threads of grey around his temples.

Yeah, he didn't need her. That cheating, lying slut did nothing but hold him down. He was Cave Johnson, CEO of Aperture Science—Cave Johnson, science maverick, the greatest innovator in the world—Cave goddamn Johnson! Cave Johnson could do any damn thing he wanted, without some broad to hold his hand! Right? He threw his head back and stuck out his chest in the mirror. Right!

It was time for a fresh start. New secretary, new system—this was an opportunity to make Aperture better than ever. How long had he kept that woman, five years? _Ten?_ He should've swapped her for a new model ages ago. Time to get off his ass, quit feeling sorry for himself—not that he had anything to feel sorry about—and get back to doing science. Maybe he wouldn't wait until tomorrow to go in to the office. The sooner he got back on the ball the better.

He didn't need her. He didn't need anyone.

As the thought crossed his mind again, the sinking feeling in his stomach got worse, turning to a dull ache deep in his gut. He ran his hands through his hair again, then rubbed his eyes in exhaustion as he let his head fall. Maybe he wasn't quite up to the office yet.

.

"GINA!"

The temp cringed. Mr. Johnson was back, after two whole days away, and she fervently wished he'd take the rest of the week off. The man was worse than ever. She didn't know what the hell happened over the weekend—assuming those crazy rumors about the FBI weren't true—but whatever it was had him taking out his frustrations on anybody within shouting distance. Everything was late, everyone was wrong, and she had to hear her name bawled down the hallway every ten minutes.

"GET THE HELL IN HERE!"

"Coming!" she shouted back, and squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. Cave Johnson, world's biggest pain in the ass.

Poking her head into his office, she found him behind his desk, head in one hand, drumming his fingers with the other. He looked up as she entered. "Where the hell were you? And why are this weekend's messages not on my desk?"

Her teeth grit against a sharp retort. "I went to the ladies' room."

"Are we taking calls in there?"

"Sir—"

"I don't wanna hear it, just get 'em in here on the double. And get me a cuppa coffee."

"Y—"

"_Now_."

She took her cue and retreated. _God, I should get paid extra for this_. A few extra dollars an hour when Mr. J. was in a mood would make him a lot more bearable, mostly because it would add at least a hundred dollars a week to her paycheck. It would never happen, of course, but a girl could dream.

The notepad with the weekend's messages was on her desk—or she thought it was. A minute of hunting through piles of paper turned up nothing. _Shit_. She scrunched her face up in concentration, trying to remember where she'd put it… Oh, he was gonna kill her if she didn't get back in there soon…

And then she had it. _File cabinet!_ She dove to the bottom drawer, rooted through the mound of unsorted files at the bottom—and there it was. _Notepad_. She grabbed it and darted back into his office. "Here you go!"

"'Bout time." He yanked it out of her hands and started leafing through. She grinned with relief—but the grin turned nervous as his face turned dark. He let out a growl. "The hell is this?"

"The messages you asked for."

"D'you think this is _funny?_"

"Sir?"

He threw the pad down and fixed her with a furious glare. "I asked for _new_ messages, not shit from a month ago. Got that?"

Glancing at the pages, she realized that the handwriting on them wasn't her own. _Shit!_ "I-I'm so—"

"So _get the damn messages!_"

"Yes sir—"

"_Now!_"

And she darted away again. Where the hell was that pad? She hunted frantically through the file cabinet again, then checked the drawers of her desk—and there it was, in the small top drawer under the phone. She allowed herself a sigh of relief as she snatched it up, making sure to check that it was the right one before venturing back in. "Found it!" She plunked it on the desk in front of him. Let him yell at her now.

He grabbed it with a wordless growl, checked it over as she held her breath, and after a moment dropped it in grudging acceptance. She grinned again— "Now where's my coffee?"

"What?"

"Coffee, woman, I told you to get me a goddamn coffee!" His voice rose dangerously.

"Sorry! Be right back!"

"_You better be!_"

She shut the door hard, cutting off his shout behind her. "Asshole." _Who does he think he is?_ she mentally grumbled as she stormed to the coffee machine. He owned the company, not the world. It was seriously tempting to sneeze in his drink. She thought about it, eyeing the cup as it filled under the machine's plastic spigot—but she needed to keep this job. She needed the money. She just had to keep telling herself that, before she snapped his stubborn neck. A steadying breath helped settle her nerves before she ventured back in again. "Here's your coffee. Sir."

He was staring intently at the notepad—the first one, not the one he'd wanted. Strange. His expression settled into a glower as he noticed her, and he growled a gruff "Finally" at her as he snatched the cup. He turned back to the notes as he took the first sip—and spluttered wetly as he spat it out again. "Aagh!"

"Sir?"

"You trying to make me sick? The hell _is_ that?"

"Coffee?"

"This is not coffee. This is _shit_." He plunked the cup onto his desk, sloshing thin brown liquid over the rim, and rounded on her. "What the hell do I have to do for a drink around here? I haven't had a decent coffee in over a week! I'm not too happy about that!"

"I can see that, sir—"

"_So why don't you get me a cup of goddamn coffee?_"

"I _did!_" Her voice rose to match his dangerous volume as she felt her nerves fraying to the breaking point. "I'm sorry sir, but—"

"Did I fucking ask if you were sorry?"

Oh, that did it. "_Excuse_ me?"

"You're a goddamn idiot, and _this is shit!_"

"_It's the best you're gonna get!_"

His face went beet red with fury. "Now you listen to me—"

But she was too far gone to care. "No, _you_ listen to _me_, you jerk! I'm sick of this! I'm _done!_ You can get your own damn coffee, 'cause _I QUIT!_"

"THEN GET THE HELL OUT!"

"FINE!" And Gina Mancini got the hell out, slamming the door behind her.

"And don't come back!" Cave shouted after her, determined to have the last word. _Good fucking riddance_. That damn temp wasn't worth the trouble—always misplacing files and forgetting appointments, not to mention the fact that she couldn't take dictation to save her life. And she was never around when he needed her. And she wore too much rouge. He should've fired her days ago. He set aside her watery excuse for coffee and turned back to the weekend's messages, determined to get back to work.

But it was the first notepad, not the second, that stole his attention. He picked it up again, eyes tracing the neat, feminine script that covered the page. Nobody who wrote that fast should have handwriting that pretty. Her pretty words covered the page, not in messages from phone calls, but in her miscellaneous notes from the day. Much of it he recognized as stuff he'd said himself, with her own little notations out beside. In the bottom corner was a neatly squared-off section for her personal lists and reminders—_Return library books. New Asimov book, __View from a Height__. Read Oct. Scientific American!_ Then a grocery list, ending in the words _Experiment with nutmeg,_ and beside that a note: _Logo tie for meeting with Harrison. He'll want it. _And he had wanted it, he remembered—his Aperture tie gave him a little extra confidence boost, and that meeting was important. She'd known to have it ready for him before he even asked.

And now she was trotting at the heels of some stuffed shirt at Black Mesa, her pen skating over another notepad as she took down the words of some other guy. That sinking feeling gripped his stomach again.

But he had other stuff to worry about. He pushed her out of his head and busied himself with the paperwork on his desk. Without—someone—to help him through it, it was really starting to pile up, and he'd never finish if he didn't start somewhere. He grabbed a random stack of what looked like financial reports and began to skim. Everything looked in order so far, except… _Wait a minute_… _Shit_. The goddamn physicists overspent their budget again. He flipped to their expenses page and let out a growl of frustration. Which idiot thought it was a good idea to order six hundred trampolines? They had Repulsion Gel! They shouldn't even need _one_ trampoline! If he couldn't get a full refund it meant they were over budget for the month, which meant having Accounting fiddle with next month's numbers, which meant checking it over and redoing it himself after they screwed it up… He squeezed the bridge of his nose against an oncoming stress headache. He was a busy man, dammit. He didn't have _time_ for this. How had he managed it all before?

He knew exactly how, but he shoved the thought away. Cave Johnson did not need a damn _assistant_ to do his job. He could do this. He'd done it for years! Hell, he'd been the best businessman America had ever seen when she was still in grade school. No doe-eyed kid was gonna keep him from doing his science.

_I'm not gonna let her win this_.

Finally feeling the adrenaline buzz of angry motivation, he ripped open the top drawer of his desk and threw her notepad inside. The thing it landed next to caught his eye—a wadded square of red and white cloth. He ripped it from the drawer with a snarl. He wanted to shred it. He wanted to burn it. He wanted to drop it down the deepest mine shaft where it would never remind him of her again.

Clutching the scarf in a shaking fist, he stroked its silky softness between his thumb and forefinger for a moment, and then tucked it safely in his pocket.

.

On the way home that night, he drove by the Golden Touch, a gentlemen's club that used to be a favorite haunt of his. These days he only came by every once in a while, when associates suggested it for business meetings—he'd stopped frequenting the place years ago. He pulled up outside and stared at the windowless building with its heavy wooden double doors, the gilt sign above them beckoning in the dark.

It was time to move on, and as experience had taught him, the best way to forget a broad was with another broad. He thought of the luxurious main room, the rich wood of the bar, the cigar smoke hanging heavy in the air—and the girls onstage gyrating slowly to seductive jazz, their supple bodies inviting imagination in the dim light. Any one of them would love to show him a good time. And Cave Johnson could have the pick of the litter. Find an anonymous girl with huge perky tits and hips like a hooker, maybe go back to the VIP lounge, order a bottle of champagne, get friendly… The thought should've excited him.

He felt empty inside, and a little bit sick.

Wiping his mind blank, he pulled out of the parking lot and headed home, not realizing that his fingers twined idly around the square of soft material in his pocket.

At last he made it back home. His dark, silent house greeted him coldly—two more bottles of Jack from the liquor store should've kept him company, but he finished barely half of the first before dragging himself off to bed. And yet he couldn't sleep.

Too exhausted to think and not drunk enough to pass out, he lay awake long into the night, staring at the bare pillow beside him. His mind felt completely drained. At last, moving like a robot, he rose from the bed and went to where he'd slung his jacket over a chair—the scarf was still in his inside pocket. He drew it out, fingered it, pressed it to his lips, and felt himself flooded by calm as her scent overwhelmed him.

_Goodnight, Caroline_.

As the grey light of predawn peeped in through his window, Cave Johnson fell asleep at last. His secretary's scarf lay snuggled against his cheek.

.

A thousand miles away, in a plush Black Mesa executive office, Caroline leaned on a mahogany desk and lit a cigarette.


	6. Chapter 6

_Vultures_.

Cave scooped the pile of job applications off his desk and dumped them unceremoniously into the wastebasket. He still hadn't announced that Caroline was gone for good, but apparently some of his employees decided to submit themselves as replacements just in case. Goddamn vultures, with their damn résumés. They didn't deserve the jobs they had. In fact… He retrieved the papers after a moment of thought, and resolved to fire each and every name in the stack. People like that had no place in his facility.

Of course, he would have to find a real replacement soon. Since Gina was gone too, he was going the whole day on his own, without even someone to take his calls—and it was not a pleasant experience. He rubbed his shoulders and winced. Only ten o'clock and it was already a long damn day.

So the Great Secretary Hunt was on again. Before—his last one—he'd gone through two or three assistants a month. Finding someone who could manage the unique and demanding workload that came with being his PA, let alone someone he could stand to be around twenty-four-seven, was next to impossible. Either they'd quit because they couldn't handle the job, or they'd get on his nerves and get themselves fired. Caroline had felt like a godsend then.

Of course, feelings could be deceiving.

He sighed in exasperation and leaned back in his chair. This damn office was getting to him. Everything in here brought up memories—he couldn't look at his own sofa without seeing her curled up on it, or sit in this chair without expecting her hands to massage his back. The whole place needed a renovation, right down to this desk. They'd had sex for the very first time on this desk. She'd been a virgin.

_I gotta get some air_.

Hauling himself up from his chair, he emerged from his office and stalked down the hall, feet guiding him unthinkingly towards the break room and its coffee machine. He still hadn't found where Caroline stashed his private one. Maybe she stole it. _Bitch_. The glower on his face kept employees out of his way as he lumbered past, lost in thought, free to brood without distraction. Until he smacked into a human wall.

_The hell…?_ He shook himself out of his brooding to see a small crowd of people packed around the break room door. Oh, this was not what he needed right now. Time to use the angry voice. He took a deep breath. _"_What the _HELL_ do you people think you're doing?_" _The bellow from behind them sent people scattering. "I pay you lazy idiots to do _science_, not to stand around—"

"Sir!"

A mousy, balding man broke off from the crowd. Cave couldn't remember his name, but he was as good a target as any. The CEO rounded on him. "You better have a damn good explanation for—"

"Mr. Johnson, sir, you gotta hear this."

Curious now, Cave followed the excited little man inside. The source of disturbance seemed to be the radio—even more employees clustered around it, listening as the announcer's voice droned, "…_Still waiting for a full police report, but no cause has been determined as yet_…"

"What's going on here?"

"Freak accident at Black Mesa. Big fire. They don't know what started it."

"Black Mesa?"

"_Black Mesa officials say that_ _irreplaceable scientific research has been destroyed_…"

And suddenly the commotion made sense. Something knotted tight in Cave's gut—it felt oddly like fear.

"…_Keep updated with hourly reports as more information comes in. You're listening to CBS News_."

"Is that all? What's going on, what did they say?"

"They don't know much yet, but they think it started late last night. Came in to work this morning, found the place in flames. Fire alarm didn't work for some reason. Nobody was hurt, but they're saying property damage could be thirty, forty million dollars."

_Nobody hurt_. The knot in his stomach started to uncoil, and he felt adrenaline rush through his veins. _Forty million dollars._ This was… This was amazing! This was the sort of thing he dreamed about! "Forty million dollars!" He laughed in exhilaration and called over the crowd, "Take an hour off, people! We're celebrating! They got what they damn well deserve, and they can _kiss my ass!_"

He laughed again as a cheer went up. Those Black Mesa bastards could roast as long as they wanted, and Aperture wouldn't mind a bit. "I gotta hear more about this." And he was off at almost a sprint to his office—if there was ever a time to give his rivals a courtesy call, it was now. He grabbed the phone and dialed.

It barely began to ring before a bored-sounding woman answered. "_You've reached Black Mesa Laboratories, I'm sorry, but we're not taking calls today_—"

"This is Cave Johnson, CEO of Aperture Science Innovators. Put me through to Glasser's office."

"_I'm sorry, sir, I was told_—"

"He'll wanna talk to me. Put me through."

He heard an exasperated sigh, and then the phone was ringing again. This time it took longer—four long rings before a hurried voice on the other end picked up and said, "_This is the office of Harold Glasser, CEO of Black Mesa Laboratories, Mr. Glasser isn't taking calls right now_—"

"This is Cave Johnson of Aperture, and Harry Glasser's damn sure gonna take my call."

"_Who is it, Breen?_" said a voice in the background.

"_It's Johnson, sir_."

"_Let me talk to him_."

"_Shouldn't we wait for the lawyers to_—"

"_Give me the phone, Breen_." The second voice spoke directly into the phone now. "_Hi there, Cave_."

"'Lo, Harry. Heard you had a little accident."

"_Called to gloat?_"

"Nah, I wouldn't do that. Just wanna see if you folks're alright."

"_Well we're not. Nobody hurt, but little miss firebug demolished some pretty important projects, and our entire record system. This'll set us back years_."

Cave started to smirk, but something in the middle of that sentence caught his attention. "Miss firebug? You think you got a lady arsonist?"

"_Don't play dumb with me, Cave. I know exactly who's responsible, and so do you_."

"Hold on, now—"

"_Pretty elaborate scheme you cooked up, just to start a few fires, but you got us. I'll give you that_._ I bet you're pretty pleased with yourself._"

"What—"

"_Your little spy's probably safe and sound at Aperture by now, isn't she? Tell her she's a damn fine actress. But if she ever crosses paths with Black Mesa again, we won't give her time to show it off_."

"Wait—you think Caroline—?"

"_I told you, don't play dumb. Who the hell else would it be? She got us good. Dick Wolfe vouched for her the whole way—he was my head of Intel. He's fired now. She'll probably be pleased with that_."

Cave couldn't breathe. It felt like fireworks were going off in his chest. "What the hell are you talking about?" he choked out, still not quite letting himself believe it.

"_You listen to me, Johnson. This is_ too far. _This is destruction of property, and we're suing for everything we can get._"

"You're not getting one red cent outta me!" His face broke into an enormous grin. "I didn't do a damn thing!"

"_Your little secretary's going to jail for a good long time, and you're gonna pay for every last_—"

"Aperture Science has nothing to do with this, and I'll swear that in court!" Cave hooted with laughter. "You got nothing on us! And that's exactly what you're gonna hear from my lawyer!"

Glasser started to say something else, but Cave cut him off, slamming the phone into its cradle. He felt ready to burst. _It was her. She did it. Little miss firebug!_ A whoop of joy exploded from his chest, and he leaped up from his chair. "That's why you don't mess with Aperture Science!"

That goddamn woman. That goddamn _genius_ of a woman. _And I thought she switched sides_. He should've known—should've _known_, dammit—he could kiss her, the brilliant little thing—_Y'know, I think I will_.

She was probably on her way home by now. He could meet her at her house, sweep her up in his arms, show her how Cave Johnson rewarded the best damn secretary in the goddamn world…

And then Cave Johnson was a man on a mission. He grabbed his jacket and sprinted out the door, picking up speed as he raced through the hallways to the main elevator. By the time he reached the lobby, he was at a dead run.

.

"_This is Harry Reasoner for CBS News, bringing you more updates on the Black Mesa fire_…"

The voice on the radio drew Caroline from sleep. She blinked groggily and half-lifted her head, taking in her surroundings with bleary eyes. She wasn't in her hotel room, or on a plane—she was in the living room of her duplex, sprawled across the sofa, head resting on its arm. A mug of coffee sat forgotten on the endtable beside her, slowly cooling. She'd fallen asleep with her fingers curled around it.

She was home.

_Thank god_.

She let out a soft groan and buried her face in the upholstery. A nine-hour flight from New Mexico, and a long drive home on top of that, left her brain feeling like mush. She didn't make it through the door until almost ten in the morning. The coffee was supposed to keep her awake, but apparently a few hours of shuteye on the plane wasn't enough to last the whole day—she'd passed out as soon as she was off her feet. Her feet that still ached from the long day before. Her clothes, the ones she still hadn't changed out of, smelled of sweat and smoke. She could use a meal and a good long shower, but what she wanted more than anything was to sleep for the next few days.

She squeezed her eyes shut, curled up tight, and tried her best to do just that—but breaking out of the Aperture sleep pattern would take more than one day of jetlag. No matter how obstinately she lay there, her body refused to let her sleep any longer. At last she uncoiled and stretched out across the sofa to stare up at the ceiling. Her ceiling. She could hear the soft patter of rain on the roof, under the newscaster's murmur.

"…_Black Mesa representatives believe foul play is to blame, but forensics teams have yet to find any sign of arson_…"

Fierce pride flared hot in her belly. Black Mesa. They thought they were so high and mighty, with their government contracts and their prestigious awards—every snide remark and condescending smile turned her stomach. "_How's it feel to work for America's number one science company?_" they'd asked. "_Like a dream come true_," was her smiling reply, and in her head she resolved to burn the place to the ground. Of course the facility wasn't completely demolished—the buildings themselves were mostly intact, actually, and there were whole departments she hadn't even bothered with—but she'd done enough. The file room was the first to go, taking vital documentation of Black Mesa's research with it as it went up in smoke. Then the executive offices, because the carpeted floors and rich furnishings burned well. Then the labs, which they had kindly given her the security codes to—and the stores of combustible chemicals within neatly finished the job. She couldn't stay to watch the fireworks, of course, but as her heels clicked quickly through the main lobby she imagined flames dancing in the plaques lining the walls, and in the glass of their ostentatious trophy case. The certificates within would curl and blacken beautifully as they burned.

It was stupid, she knew. It was rash, and petty, and she could've done better. With time and planning she could have ripped them apart from the inside, maybe in a matter of months—but no revenge was worth staying that long. She could barely last a few days with those self-important bastards. They made Aperture Science the_ butt _of their _jokes_.

Going along with it was unbearable. She could ignore the lower-level grunts for the most part, even when they whistled and grabbed her in the halls, but Wolfe and the other executives had to be humored so they wouldn't suspect—which meant that every time one of them casually insulted her company, she had to smile through the urge to slap his smug face. It was the most painful thing she'd ever done. Every cruel comment dug at her like a knife, and playing the traitor—brushing them off with a laugh, pretending she didn't love him more than anything—him—it—_shit_—

Her heart twisted painfully. Mr. Johnson was a hard man to forget.

But she had to forget him. He said he didn't want her, and that was just fine—she certainly wasn't crawling back to him after the things he said. She had that much pride, at least. He could find another tramp to do his dirty work. She was moving on. But as she sipped at her once-warm coffee, a bleak thought crossed her mind. _Where am I going to go?_

It was like starting from square one. _Behind_ square one, actually, since the two biggest names in applied science now hated her guts. She'd have to lie low for a while to avoid Black Mesa's notice, maybe find a local job doing something simple and unremarkable, like waitressing—and then what?

Part of her almost wished Black Mesa had been a real opportunity. She could've started over there. She could've had a real job with a real title, earned the real respect she always wanted—but there was never a question of staying. It was the best opportunity she was likely to get, but…

But she threw it away for a company that didn't want her anymore.

When she thought of Wolfe's smirking face, though, it was worth it. The feeling she got from tossing that lit cigarette into his wastebasket, watching as the alcohol-soaked papers inside lit up like a torch—that was worth it. She might never work in the sciences again, but Black Mesa would remember not to mess with Aperture. _Everybody likes revenge_.

She smiled bitterly to herself as she rose from the sofa and went to her bedroom. Time to move on. Her hands found the nightstand drawer, reached inside, and pulled out a wad of black cloth. She dug her fingers into it—_Moving on_—and brought it to her face, breathing in its scent, feeling its softness against her lips and cheek. Saying goodbye. _Goodbye, Mr. Johnson. I don't need you anymore_. She tried to let go, but the familiar smell drew her in. Her eyes closed as she inhaled deeply. _I'm done with you. I never want to see you again_.

It took a long moment to tear the sweater away, but at last she managed to lower it from her nose. The fabric bunched around her fingers as she balled it into a fist and brought it back to the living room. Her brain said to throw it in the trash, throw it outside, throw it anywhere—so she tossed it onto the sofa and sat beside it, letting her fingers stroke it like a live thing as her other hand reached for her cold coffee.

The radio was playing an interview with some local politician now. She rose to shut it off before flopping down on the sofa again. The silence was more peaceful, broken only by the gentle drizzle outside. She sipped her coffee and let her mind go blank as she listened. No fears, no memories. Only the drink at her lips, the sweater under her fingers, and the rain.

_Knock knock knock._

_Shit._

Her eyes squeezed shut in annoyance. Oh, that was the last thing she needed. She looked a mess, she felt a mess, she'd just committed second-degree arson, and she really didn't want to see anyone right now. Maybe if she ignored it they'd go away. She sat unmoving and pretended not to hear.

_Knock knock knock._

Louder this time, and more insistent. _Shit_. She sighed and set the mug down. Hopefully it was just a door-to-door salesman or something, someone she could get rid of quickly—but as she rose to answer, she heard the metallic scrape of a key in the lock. She turned just as her visitor let himself in.

The bottom dropped out of her stomach as her eyes met his.

Of course. Who else would it be?

_Hello, sir_.


	7. Chapter 7

Cave was on a euphoric high as he pulled into the driveway outside Caroline's duplex. He'd floored the gas the whole way, heart racing, mind running over and over how he would sweep his assistant off her feet. How long was it since he last made this drive? Only a week? It felt like forever. And it was strange not having her beside him as he strode up the front walk through the lightly sprinkling rain.

Well, it was time to fix that.

_Knock knock knock_.

He brushed the raindrops from his jacket and waited a moment after rapping his knuckles on the front door—straightened his tie, rolled his shoulders back, made himself presentable—but got no answer. He tried again.

_Knock knock knock_.

Still nothing. Her car was parked outside, so she had to be home. Maybe she was asleep or something. Yeah, asleep in bed—he pictured her curled up under the sheets, and imagined waking her with a kiss. Those soft brown eyes opening, full of surprise, and then that sweet smile… His heart skipped, and he couldn't hold back a smile of his own. _I missed you, kiddo_.

He didn't give it another thought as he fished out his keys and unlocked the door. He'd missed her cozy apartment, too—it was like a second home, he was here so often. Why wouldn't he let himself in? So he did just that, opening the door on the familiar sight of her living room—

And as she turned, her eyes met his.

Right there. She was right there. Her gaze stopped him dead, and his breath caught in his throat—it took him a moment to find his voice, and when he did it emerged as a choked whisper.

"Caroline."

He had to hold her. The need pulled him forward, drawing him to her magnetically—but as he moved she took a step back. "Caroline, kid—" He pursued, and she retreated, keeping the furniture solidly between them. Her eyes held the wary expression of an animal.

He frowned. Why wasn't she throwing herself into his arms? According to every scene he'd played out in his head, she should definitely be kissing him by now. Instead she stood across the room, guarded and tense, poised on her feet as if to flee. As if she were scared of him. "What the hell's wrong with you? C'mere."

At last she found her words. "Get out of my house."

"Aw c'mon, kid—"

"Get. Out."

"Caroline—"

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?"

"Getting my secretary back, what else?" He held his arms out to her. "Now c'mon, I got the car outside, I'm taking you home."

As he stepped forward again, she bristled and backed into the wall. "You need to leave. Now."

"What—"

"I don't work for you, and you need to get out of my house."

"Whaddaya mean you don't—"

"Please, just _go_." Her voice cracked on the last word, as if it pained her to say.

His frown deepened. "What the hell are you talking about?"

But his confusion only seemed to make things worse. Her reply was soft and disbelieving. "Did you forget?" Her expression hardened as he watched, and a stony defiance masked the hurt in her eyes. "I'm talking about when you threw me out of your office and said you never wanted to see me again. You told me not to come back, so I won't. Goodbye."

"Aw, kid—"

"_Aw kid_ nothing! You called me a cocksucking tramp!"

"That's 'cause I thought you were!" The response shocked her speechless—and he used it to get a few words in. "Look. Kiddo. This is all some stupid misunderstanding. Let's just forget it and—"

"A misunderstanding? Did I _misunderstand_ that my boss of twelve years thought I was a backstabbing slut? Because that's what I thought I understood." She cut him off before he could reply. "You thought I only wanted to sell your science to the highest bidder, is that right? That I used you and never cared about you?"

"Caroline—"

"That's what you said."

"I didn't—Caroline, I didn't know—"

"You should have! I _told_ you I didn't do anything!" A note of pain stung her voice. "I told you he was lying, but you didn't believe me. You'd rather believe some Black Mesa operative you knew for five minutes."

"I—"

"Twelve years I've worked for you, but all some stranger has to do is hint around and suddenly I'm a traitor." Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back before they could fall. "I see how much you trust me."

"Caroline. Don't be stupid." She started to turn away, but he pinned her to the wall, cupping her cheek in his hand and turning her to face him. "You know I didn't mean any of that—"

"You sure fooled me. Get off."

"Caroline, listen—" He held her as she tried to shrug him off. "I know I said some bad stuff, but—I—"

"Get _off_."

"Wouldja listen to me when I'm talking to you?" Seeing this side of her shook him to the core. The assistant he knew would never shy from his touch. She could be stubborn, she could disagree, she could even get aggressive when someone pushed her too far—but he'd never seen her like this. This woman's unfamiliar expression twisted her face into something unrecognizable. Her dark eyes brimmed with hurt and hostility as she glared at him.

"What are you trying to say, sir? You want me to forget about it? Is that what you want?"

He sighed in relief. "Yeah!"

"Well I'm sorry, _sir_, but I can't do that." She spat the honorific like a curse. "I'm not going to lie down and take it like I always do, because I am sick and tired of your _bullshit_—"

"Kid—"

"_You called me a whore!_"

The accusation hit him like a punch in the gut. His grip on her went slack, and she tore free, brushing past without so much as a glance at him. He took a breath and opened his mouth to defend himself—but couldn't. It was true. He wasn't sure how to fix that.

She defiantly kept her back to him, tense shoulders blocking him off like a brick wall. "If that's what I mean to you after twelve years, then fine. But you do _not_ get to patronize me anymore. I want you out of my house, and I never want to see you again." He reached out a hand and laid it tentatively on her shoulder, but she jerked away. "Don't touch me." The frigid refusal knocked him back a step. In the pause her shoulders hitched a little, as if holding back a sob—but when she continued her tone was firm and cold. "You don't want me. You made that _very_ clear. Since the day you hired me I have been nothing but loyal to this company, but if you can just—throw me away—"

Her voice faltered as she choked on her words, and he moved in, sensing an opportunity—but something she said caught his attention. "Wait a minute."

"—Like I never meant anything to you—"

"I did not!"

She stopped cold. "—_Excuse_ me?"

"You were the one who walked out on me, missy. If you didn't, none of this woulda happened!"

That did it. She whipped around to face him, flaring in indignation. "How can you say that?"

"'Cause it's true!"

"I never—"

"Yeah you did!" And realization smacked her in the face. He watched her eyes change—stunned, shaken, defensive, and back to defiant—as her mind went back to that first night. "Hate to remind you, kiddo, but you were the one who quit. _You_ left _me_."

"You think this is _my_ fault?"

"It kinda is, yeah!"

Her eyes widened, her jaw dropped, and for a second he expected her to belt him in the mouth. She didn't. She let out a deep breath, and something in her seemed to settle—when she looked up at him, her face was calm. "You're right. It is my fault. I'm sorry." But her eyes crackled with sparks. "I'm sorry that for once in my life I showed a modicum of self-respect by standing up to my arrogant blowhard of a boss. I'm sorry I wanted more from my life than cleaning up your messes and trotting at your heels and saying _yes sir_ every other word. I let you take me for granted from the moment you hired me, and even though I'm the best employee you have, you act like I'm a child! I'm sorry I ever hoped that maybe, _maybe_ you could show the slightest bit of respect for me instead of treating my like your goddamn dog!" Tears pricked her eyes again, but her voice stayed strong. "But you know what I'm most sorry for? I'm sorry I wasted twelve years of my life on a _selfish prick like you!_"

"Selfish prick, huh?" he growled.

"Yeah!"

"Well if you hate me so much, why don't you leave?"

"I DID!"

She expected him to yell back. He didn't. Staring at her like she'd clubbed him with a baseball bat, he let out a shuddering breath, and his strong shoulders slumped. The best retort he could muster was a quivering insult. "You're a bitch."

"And you're a patronizing, self-absorbed ass, now get out."

And he did. His gaze dropped to the floor as he turned away from her. Heavy footsteps brought him to the door. His hand found the knob and he turned it slowly, letting in the grey afternoon drizzle—a chill draft blew in a handful of raindrops that sprinkled across his face. The silence stretched like a yawning rift between them, tempered only by the patter of the rain.

It was time for him to go.

She swallowed against the lump in her throat, but her stony expression held, and the eyes that watched him were unyielding and cold. Under her gaze he squared his shoulders, raised his head, and steeled himself to leave. His jaw clenched tight as he looked out at the rain.

But something held him back. His feet stayed frozen still, as if lead weights held them to the spot. He couldn't cross the doorstep. And for a split second, she saw his composure crumble—the stoic mask cracked, and beneath it the man in front of her was more broken and alone than she ever thought possible. In that moment the powerful CEO of Aperture Science looked like nothing more than a frightened child. He needed someone to hold him. He needed her.

"Sir."

The word was involuntary. It came out on a whisper, almost inaudible, but it closed the distance between them as easily as breathing. In that moment the rift sealed up—and they found themselves sharing a much more intimate silence. His eyes flicked in her direction as he tried to meet her gaze, but they fell short, coming to rest shyly at her feet. Strange, to see the most confident man she knew looking shy. It made her feel bashful herself. She glanced away as a hint of blush rose to warm her cheeks.

_The door's still open_, registered some faraway part of her brain. So she moved around him to close it, hyperconscious of the space between his body and hers, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor. Her back was to him as she pulled it shut—she felt his gaze rest between her shoulderblades and shivered. If she turned to look at him, there was no going back. That much she knew.

Slowly, she turned to look at him.

"Would you like some coffee?"

And he kissed her.

It was messy and rough, his mouth mashed to hers in a fit of desperation, and it caught her by surprise—for about half a second. A heartbeat later she was kissing him back. Lips and bodies pressed together hungrily as he pulled her close, his rough hands at the base of her spine, hers running up his neck to the sides of his face, fingers twining in his hair—

"I'll be right back."

And she tore herself away, leaving him to stare dumbstruck after her as she escaped into the kitchen.

Her heart thundered in her chest as she whipped the door shut behind her. She felt lightheaded, dizzy—her hands flew to her face and she could smell Brylcreem on her fingers. _Oh god oh god oh god_… The smell of him was intoxicating as ever. She could still feel him on her lips as he tried to devour her, locked in the familiar strength of his embrace…

She hugged herself tight, curling around the fire in her belly as if smothering it could put it out. Suddenly she was twenty-something again, and the mere thought of him filled her with heat. Her light blush was now a burning redness that covered her neck and chest, and she could feel her heart pounding in her ribcage like a drum—her contact-starved body screamed at her to get the hell back in there and—

What? Throw herself on him like nothing happened? She had more pride than that.

_No you don't_, hissed her arousal, _now go get him!_

Deep breath, in and out. _No_. In and out. _Get ahold of yourself_. In and out. _I can handle this_.

She felt the tears finally spill from her eyes, and her next exhale shuddered with a sob—but for some reason she felt like laughing. The whole thing was ridiculous. First he wouldn't let her go, and then he wouldn't take her back, and now he wouldn't leave her alone—and then she went and _kissed_ him—of all the stupid things to do—

A noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob bubbled from between her lips. _I kissed him. God, I'm hopeless. But he kissed me first_, she added defensively, as if her own feelings would betray her._ I just… let him. I shouldn't have let him, but _he_ kissed _me. The thought made her tingle. _He kissed me_. She wiped at the tears streaming down her cheeks and realized she was smiling.

_Pull yourself together_. Her common sense asserted itself as a firm voice in her head, and it didn't sound happy. _So what if you're still attracted to him? He's still horrible, and you need to get him out of here. We're not wasting all this effort now_. It was right. This didn't change anything. She should march back in there and order him to go—but with her frigid control melted away, she couldn't find the will to do it. But this wasn't so bad. Maybe after a calm, reasonable discussion over coffee, they could part on good terms.

_Coffee. Right_. She shook herself and went to the coffeepot, rinsing out the last cold dregs of her earlier brew before readying the new one, hands moving in motions so practiced she didn't even have to think. It would be ready in a few minutes—that gave her a few minutes to collect herself. As the coffee brewed she leaned against the countertop and rehearsed what she would say.

_Mr. Johnson, I'm sorry, but I can't come back to Aperture. I love—my job—very much, but it isn't the best thing for me anymore. I still love the company, and I will always act in its best interests, but for my own good I need to pursue other things. I'm sorry_.

A lead weight settled in her stomach as she went over the words._ I feel like I've tried this before_. And she had—it was almost verbatim the same speech that got her thrown out in the first place. Mr. Johnson didn't always respond well to reasonable discussion.

_But he'll have to this time_. She wiped her eyes again and steeled her resolve. _I won't yell, I won't cry, and I_ will not _give in to him. I'm going to have a mature, adult conversation._ Because they were both mature adults, no matter how childish he could be, and it was time they acted like it._ I'm not a little girl anymore. I won't let him treat me like one_.

_I'll reason with the bastard if it kills me_.

The squeal of the percolator punctuated her thought, and automatically her hands went to the matching Aperture mugs side-by-side in the cabinet. A dollop of cream for each—the trick was getting that just right, not too strong or too sweet—but after twelve years she barely had to watch as she poured. The familiar smell was a balm on her frazzled, fraying nerves. She inhaled deeply, letting the scent flood her senses with warmth, and smiled. _A cup of coffee never hurt anybody_.

And on that note, she took both mugs and ventured out of the kitchen.

She half-expected to be pounced on as she peeped into the living room, but her former boss had taken a seat on the sofa with his back to her. His posture was odd—not sprawled out open-legged like normal, but hunched in on himself as if trying to shrink into the cushions. He looked almost nervous. She held onto her façade of calm as she approached, keeping her hands steady and ignoring the flutter of her heart.

He didn't react to her at all as she approached, whether deliberately or because her cautious footsteps made little sound—when the mug of coffee appeared over his shoulder, he took it without looking up. She didn't try to get his attention. Instead she hovered behind the sofa with her eyes fixed on her coffee, turning deliberately away from him, fighting the gravitational pull of his presence. The next few seconds passed in mutual silence as they sipped their drinks.

"Mmmmmm." The hot liquid lapped his lips like a kiss, warming him with the smell and taste of home. It was like finding something he thought he'd lost. "I missed real coffee."

Her reply was stiff, but not quite impassive. "The new girl doesn't make you coffee?"

"Doesn't count, tastes like shit." Caroline had to bite back a smile. "God, she's terrible," Cave continued, relaxing a little as he talked. "Couldn't take notes, couldn't take calls. Don't think she filed a thing since she started. And she called me _Mr. J_ all the time."

"No!"

"Yeah!" He chuckled and shook his head. "Finally had to let her go. I've had bad assistants before, but Gina took it to a whole new level."

Caroline found herself chuckling along with him. "I'm glad," she said without thinking.

"What?"

She caught the slip too late. "Nothing."

But he wouldn't let her get away that easily. Turning over his shoulder to her, he said gently, "You should come back and show her how it's done."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I_ can't_."

She still refused to look at him, but he pursued anyway. "Now wait a minute." He fixed her with a straightforward gaze. "You started that fire. Right?"

It took her a long moment to reply. "Yes."

"Why in the hell would you do that if you weren't coming home?"

"Because those _sons of bitches_ treated my company like dirt." The memories sparked a fire in her dark eyes, and a shadow passed over her face. "We were a joke to them. I couldn't stand it. I wanted to show them what happens when you make trouble for Aperture Science." She stared fixedly into her coffee, focused on something he couldn't see. "Everybody likes revenge."

At least she sounded madder at Black Mesa than at him. That was a good sign. Cave chanced a grin. "That was really something, kiddo. Real impressive."

"I wasn't trying to _impress_ anyone," she snapped. "The bastards deserved it. They wouldn't know real science if it hit them in the nose."

"Or burned their facility down," he chuckled in return. The unexpected comment made her cheeks turn pink. Was that a compliment? She ducked her head to hide the blush—but he noticed anyway, and barely held back a bigger grin. Something was getting through to her. His tone was just shy of goading as he continued, "Lemme tell you, Aperture could use some real science right about now. We've been at a standstill ever since you left."

It took her a hesitant moment, but she rose to the bait. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I mean it! Been over a week now and we haven't done shit. It's like everybody forgot how to do their jobs. I've got research teams shirking work, I've got half the sales department hanging around the water cooler, I've got a whole warehouse that I can't use 'cause it's clogged with stupid goddamn—"

"Oh, not the trampolines."

"—How'd you know that?"

"Of course they'd pull that stunt again," she huffed, leaning against the back of the sofa beside him. "The physicists tried it a few months ago as a joke—they didn't expect anyone to notice. Luckily I caught them in time to cancel the order. Just tell the manufacturers it was a mistake, send them back, get a refund, and take the shipping costs out of the Physics budget."

"But they're over budget already—"

"A pay cut across the board for the next month or so should cover it. They won't be happy, but it won't have to be a big cut, and it's their own fault anyway. Teach them a lesson. In fact…" A thoughtful look crossed her face. "Does the Botany lab still want the greenhouse irrigation system redone?"

"Is that what they have their panties in a wad about? I never read those memos."

"I know you don't, but I do, and this could be the perfect opportunity to slip it into the budget at no extra cost. Just shave a little more off the physicists' paychecks. They won't even notice."

"You little devil!" Cave let out a guffaw and propped his feet up on her coffee table. This was why he wanted her back so bad—his girl had a head for business. Of course, he could've thought of it himself, he just… hadn't. The mindset was escaping him lately.

But Caroline was back in her element. "I see what you mean about that _temp_ not being up to scratch," she sniffed, making the single syllable drip with contempt. "I could take care of all that in a second. I hope she at least got you ready for that follow-up with Harrison on Friday."

"What follow-up?"

"He wanted to check back with you after the trial period, remember?"

"No!" he spluttered. "I never heard anything about it!"

She knew he had, because she'd been in the room when he agreed to it, but that didn't matter now. "Don't worry, I'll—I—" She fumbled to a halt.

"Yeah?"

"I'll help you find a replacement, but that's all I can do."

"Aw, c'mon!" She turned away, and he turned after her, propping his elbows on the back of the sofa. "You were on a roll there! We could have the place back to normal by the end of the day if you just—"

"I'm not coming back."

"Why the hell not?" But she had her back to him again, and he received no answer. "You can't just leave me hanging like that!"

"Yes I can. I'm not your secretary."

"Caroline—"

"I'm not going through this again." She flicked her hands out in dismissal and started to walk away.

He rose from the sofa to follow. "I dunno how you expect me to get by without—"

"That's not my problem."

"It's Aperture's problem," he growled, "but I guess you don't care about Aperture anymore, huh?"

The accusation froze her in her tracks. "Excuse me?"

"Sure you still hate Black Mesa, but all that stuff about doing it for Aperture was a load of horseshit."

"Don't you dare—"

"If you really cared about my company—"

"I care! _I care!_" Her eyes flashed with fury as she rounded on him. "Don't you _ever_ say I don't love this company! Aperture is my _whole life!_ Whether you realize it or not, I put my heart and soul into it just like you! And if you ever really thought I could betray it, you don't know me at all!" The clash of wills was almost audible. She saw his temper swell, building to a head behind his furious gaze, and thought for a heartbeat that he would actually hurt her—but she stood her ground and met him head on. "It's my company as much as yours, _and you know it!_"

She dared him to deny her. He couldn't. The tension between them cracked like splitting rock, and something in him seemed to give. His voice went suddenly soft. "Yeah, I know it. So how come you can just walk away?"

Of all the things he could have said, that was the most unexpected. It knocked the breath out of her in a whoosh. As she scrambled to regain her balance, he turned and sat heavily on the sofa, not caring that he had his back to her. Her mouth tried to form words, but she couldn't make a sound.

Her former boss sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. "If you care about Aperture so much, why aren't you at the facility doing your damn job? I can't replace you, kiddo. I tried. I can keep trying all you want, but—you're one in a million. You know that."

She was completely speechless. Her mouth hung open as she tried to process the things he was saying—things she'd waited twelve years to hear. He needed her. He _knew_ he needed her. All of a sudden her heartbeat sounded deafeningly loud.

He wasn't even looking at her now. He sat with hands clasped between his knees, hunched over, staring morosely at the floor. His tone was rough with emotion as he murmured, "I dunno what I'm gonna do without you."

She felt the lump rise to her throat again, and knew it wasn't going away this time.

Cave Johnson was the proudest man she'd ever met. He was arrogant, condescending, self-centered, and stubborn. He demanded instead of asking, he took everything for granted, he never apologized for any reason—and he didn't need anybody. Except her.

She tried to keep the quaver out of her voice as she spoke. "You've never said any of this before."

"Well, I—I mean, hell—I—figured you knew."

She swallowed hard. No, that lump wasn't going anywhere. Not with the slump of his shoulders breaking her heart.

It took a long, cautious moment, but slowly she moved around the sofa and settled beside him, sensing every inch of the space that separated him from her. He was close enough to kiss. She sat primly still, her perfect posture a contrast to his slouch, fixing her eyes on the coffee table in front of her so they wouldn't wander. She could feel his weight on the cushions beside her, and in the silence she could hear his breath.

One of them would have to make a move.

She swallowed again and opened her mouth, but it took another moment before her words caught up with her. "I would never… be unfaithful to you. In any way." Keeping her tone steady took enormous effort, but she managed it.

"I know."

"How could you think that of me?"

"What was I s'posed to think? You were gone, Caroline. You left me." His voice sounded rough and husky, as if he were choked up too. "I never in a million years thought you'd leave me."

He couldn't meet her eyes, but she felt his gaze fall on her left knee. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She had no answer for him—until it happened, she never thought she'd leave him either. Somewhere in her head a part of her still insisted that she'd done the right thing, but it was hard to hear that part when the rest of her was yelling, _He's hurt! Make it better!_

Her overwhelming instinct was to fix this, to hold him close until the sadness went away and then get rid of whatever was doing this to him. Being the culprit herself made that difficult. She half-felt deserving of the pain when his next gruff words hit her. "What did you go and leave me for?"

"I…" The accusation buried itself like a bullet in her chest. She could only look at him for a second before glancing away. "I already told you. Don't make me say it again."

He chuckled grimly. "Arrogant, selfish prick, was that it? Yeah, I remember." The words left an acrid taste in his mouth. His eyes flicked to her for half a second—but she was still staring straight ahead, unmoving, as if she hadn't heard him at all. He risked one last attempt. "You couldn't really leave ol' Cave, could you?"

It wasn't a boast. It was a question. More than that—it was a plea.

No response.

He couldn't voice the thought that followed, but in her silence it ripped his heart open. _I guess you could_.

Any words she could have said were stuck tight in her throat._ I thought you didn't respect me_. But the way he acted now said otherwise. He wasn't going to strong-arm her into submission the way he would with anyone else. The bullying was over, the shouting gone. He wasn't defending his pride anymore. She almost got the feeling that if she asked him to leave one more time, he'd go.

Would she do it?

She shifted again, settling awkwardly in her seat—and brushed against him with her knee.

The response was tiny but electric. They both stiffened, bodies tense and motionless, each waiting for the other to react. The pause stretched for ages. They couldn't look at one another, couldn't show any sign of the frisson that made their skin tingle with sparks—both were far too stubborn for that. They could only sit frozen in place and hope the other would move first.

At last, just as he was giving up, she relaxed the tiniest bit and let her leg rest against his.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her leg like it was about to bite him. Her dress rode up over her knees, just slightly, exposing a few inches of nylon-covered skin. For a moment his mind was overwhelmed with the image of her stripped to her lingerie, and the delicious memory of peeling off her stockings. It was a tantalizing distraction, but what struck his heart was the intimacy that came with it—the warm, soft sense that she trusted him with all of her. He'd never felt like that about anyone, ever, before or since—and if he didn't fix this, he was going to lose her for good.

Cave Johnson was not a cautious man, but he moved more cautiously than he ever thought possible as he reached out to her.

His touch shuddered through her like lightning. She shivered as the rough warmth of his hand grazed her, hesitated, and came to rest shyly on her knee. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she felt a hot flush spread from head to toe. It was an effort not to squirm, make a sound, lean in closer—but she managed it, remaining silent and immovable. Until her hand lifted gingerly, in a barely noticeably motion, and edged towards his.

He didn't notice it, and just as she was about to return the touch, his hand withdrew. He curled it into a loose fist in his lap and looked away. No use invading her space. She was a stubborn woman, and if she wanted him gone, he didn't stand a chance.

He froze as he felt her body rest against his.

Slowly and cautiously, she nestled into his side, letting the stress and tension of the past days ebb away as best she could. The warm, comforting strength of him helped with that. Her body had missed his body. She edged in close, and her head pillowed itself on his shoulder. It felt right.

_The hell is she doing?_ he thought frantically, barely daring to breathe. _She's not… Not after all that… Is she?_ But her hand slid deliberately down his thigh, coming to rest with fingers curled around his knee, and he thought his heart would explode. Maybe he got through to her after all.

After a long moment of stillness, he finally dared to move—and a tentative hand crept around her waist. Another shiver ran through her as it found the curve of her hip. He eased her closer, savoring the way her shape fit with his, and she snuggled up willingly under his arm. He still couldn't look at her, but gradually his posture relaxed, and in a few minutes his cheek was resting against her hair.

He couldn't resist nuzzling closer. The undiluted smell of her flooded his nose. Her perfume had faded and her shampoo's smell was barely detectable, replaced by the sweat of a tiring day, but the metallic tang of the Enrichment Center clung to her still, blended with the animal smell of her body as if they were one scent. And an edge of something else too, something new, like burning campfire, burning…

He breathed in deep, burying his face in her hair, and took a gamble in breaking the silence. "You smell like smoke."

"I haven't had time to shower yet—"

"It is _sexy _as _hell_." He cuddled her tighter and pressed a kiss to her head, prompting a small smile. "Did you really do that? Light those bastards up like a firecracker?"

Her smile widened. "I sure did." It felt safer to talk about now, nestled up to his chest, with his protective arm around her. Los Alamos felt a million miles away. "I thought it was a nice parting gift. I had to thank them for ruining my life."

"Remind me not to get on your bad side," he chuckled.

"Oh, I will." She snuck a glance at him and added carefully, "I showed them what they get when they mess with Cave Johnson's girl."

His heart skipped. She couldn't have meant anything by that. Could she? His breath caught in his throat as his gaze ventured down—and was met by a well-loved pair of warm brown eyes.

_That's my girl, alright_.

"C'mere, you," he growled, and scooped her into a big bear hug. She giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder as he held her tight, relishing every second. The past few days couldn't touch her now, not with his embrace protecting her like a warm circle of firelight against the cold and the dark. He was the only safety she'd ever known. Her boss, her mentor, her lover… She could lose herself in this man.

Maybe she already had.

But the pang of guilt that should have come with the thought was muted to the barest whisper. She firmly ignored it. _He's awful for me, I know that—but I love him. And he loves me too_.

They stayed there for what felt like hours, wrapped around one another like their lives depended on it. It took ages for them to so much as relax their grip. But gradually they did, and two heartbeats slowed to a tranquil pace as their owners found solace in each other. After some time she wasn't hugging him so much as lying on him, snuggled in his lap with his arms around her, letting the rise and fall of his breathing lull her into a peaceful calm. They could've fallen asleep then and there.

But, with some effort, she raised her head to meet his gaze, resting her forehead against his so that they were nose-to-nose. The look in his eyes melted her completely. No bravado there, not now—he was just happy to have her in his arms again.

"Caroline, I'm s—"

"Shh." She pressed her fingers over his mouth. "I am too."

It was the closest to an apology he'd ever given—and the closest she wanted. He wouldn't be Cave Johnson without a little bravado. And she loved Cave Johnson.

He pressed a kiss to her fingertips, and she found herself grinning with relief. She stroked his cheek, feeling the light stubble along his jaw, and let her hand tangle in his hair. It was all behind them now. Her words were only half-playful as she tested gently, "Are you sure you don't hate me?"

He let out a bark of laughter. "Couldn't hate you if I tried! And I _did_ try. Just couldn't keep you out of my head." She giggled and arched her back as his fingers ran down her spine. "Lemme tell you, kiddo, you are something else."

"I'm just a secretary." The words slipped out of their own accord. She wasn't sure if the modesty was false or not.

He reacted like a shot. "Caroline!" Catching her face in his hands, he held her nose-to-nose again and fixed her with a stern gaze. "Y'know what you are? You are the backbone of Aperture Science, and the best damn secretary in the goddamn world. And if I ever forget that again, I want you to hit me as hard as you can. Right in the mouth. 'Cause I sure as hell deserve it."

She smiled. "Yes sir."

"And you're my girl."

"Yes sir."

"And you always will be."

"Yes sir."

"Good." He bumped his nose to hers. "Don't you forget it."

But it occurred to her that one question was still unanswered. Wrapping her arms around him again, she asked softly, "Does this mean I have my job back?"

The kiss that followed was answer enough.


End file.
